


hold me like a lantern

by trashyeggroll



Category: Black Lightning (TV)
Genre: Call this a soft E or hard M, Character Study, F/F, Feelings, Non-Graphic Smut, Quickies, Season/Series 03 Spoilers, Tumblr Prompt, Vanilla, back on my lovey dovey bullshit babey, thundergrace - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:22:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24202009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashyeggroll/pseuds/trashyeggroll
Summary: Grace Choi comes to terms with the road back to Anissa, and the reunion is worth the long fight finally behind them, as much the ones that lay ahead.
Relationships: Grace Choi/Anissa Pierce
Comments: 15
Kudos: 48





	hold me like a lantern

**Author's Note:**

> I started thinking about that big dumb comfy lookin’ blanket from the poisoning incident and how Anissa would have died if Grace hadn’t been there AND... how I wanted to fill in some blanks from Season three. THREE MONTHS LATER, here we are.
> 
> This is flowery and I did a thing with dialogue but I hope ya'll like it!

When Anissa first brought Grace home from the bus stop, exhausted and embarrassed, they had taken the resumption of their relationship slowly.

The warzone that was once Freeland meant an abrupt leapfrog of milestones, straight to living together, and that part, at least, had gone surprisingly well. Anissa seemed to find some kind of contentment in cooking for them, and Grace, with no rent money or other supplies to contribute to the household, spent her hours alone helping with laundry, wiping drops of dried toothpaste from the bathroom sink, anything to make herself feel useful when she could. 

But aside from the tenuous domestic peace, Grace’s shaky handle on her powers continued to hang heavy over their days and nights, always looming over their shoulders. To her credit, Anissa was still affectionate with her, at least. They’d pile under that ridiculous giant knit blanket on the couch to watch some TV to decompress from a long day or one of Grace’s meltdowns, and each night, they fell asleep curled around each other. Even those small gestures had been more comfort and trust than Grace could’ve hoped for, after she fled without so much as a cryptic goodbye note.

Still, she could tell that Anissa was never  _ truly _ at ease, no matter how much she tried to hide it behind her endearingly dumb jokes and wide, distractingly pretty smiles—and Grace couldn’t blame her. Who  _ would _ be comfortable with an out-of-control shapeshifter just one transformation away from becoming an apex predator at any given moment? 

In a strange, completely fucked up and unfair kind of way, it was almost like they’d reverted to a fledgling courtship—a cautious arm around the shoulders, a playful nudge against the shoulder, hesitant pauses when walking in on the other getting out of the shower. There was a nebulous space back between them, and they were cautiously testing its edges, wondering when the coast would be clear to close the distance in full. 

It wasn’t  _ all _ eggshells, though. They filled in the gaps by getting to know each other again, without their heaviest secrets blocking their view. Anissa listened quietly, arms wrapped around Grace on the couch, to the details of her often violent, more often tragic childhood. Grace finally got the real story about why Anissa had ghosted her, just a few months into their tender, then-unnamed relationship: Thunder.

While Grace had assumed she’d lost the interest of the charming med student, Anissa had been preoccupied because  _ Thunder _ had been living her origin story, and not just by discovering her own powers and exploring what she wanted to do with them; added to that had been the revelations about her father, her sister, and even Uncle Gambi. Granted, Grace still would have appreciated a text or two, but at this point, she had no ground to be righteous about  _ that. _ It was, though, an undeniable comfort to know, with certainty, that it hadn’t been about lack of feeling on Anissa’s part.

And, despite all of Grace’s insecurities and misgivings at first, the process of both of them putting everything out on the table, sorting through the truth and lies and omissions… It made them  _ better _ , regardless of their physical distance. That probably wasn’t the best way to put it, but all Grace knew was that  _ being _ with Anissa changed from performance to second nature. There was nothing left to hold onto, to keep her at arm’s length; there was nothing left but to choose to take a leap.

So when the poison-weakened Anissa had decided to send her girlfriend to the relative safety of the Perdi Farm, Grace had surprised herself by accepting the decision easily. She didn’t  _ want _ to leave Anissa’s side, and despite the low hum of fear that she might never see her superhero again… Grace  _ trusted _ Anissa in a way that hadn’t been possible before they came clean with each other. Trusted she would do everything she could to bring them together again, and Grace was willing to do the same. 

In truth, Grace hadn’t been able to put those coherent words to her feelings until she was several sessions deep with Perenna, a meta-therapist, apparently. The older woman with the kind eyes and assuring voice had diligently nudged and prodded the shapeshifter into a better headspace, CBT and meta-powers, and the other refugees at the farm helped her practice her own powers. 

So when Anissa had shown up unexpectedly one day, masked and pretending to have an interest in the farm’s food stores, Grace was  _ ready _ . The last blockade between them had been lifted, and… She did  _ particularly _ enjoy the cut of Anissa’s backside in the Blackbird suit. After sneaking to the barn, they’d barely murmured their greetings before Blackbird’s mask got tugged down, and their lips met in a reunion kiss. 

This time, finally— _ finally— _ Grace could let herself get lost in it. With her powers under control, all she had to do was enjoy herself: the feel of Anissa’s lips sliding against hers, the familiar scent of her skin, the way the firm grip of her hands made Grace feel safer, ever in the midst of a metahuman war, than she could ever remember.

The kiss also certainly made her feel  _ other _ things, less nobly romantic, but equally persistent, and judging by the dreamy look in her girlfriend’s eye when they came up for air, Anissa was under the same spell. It hadn’t been hard for her to convince Blackbird to take her home again, under the incomplete but true story of needing the shapeshifter for the Resistance. 

Back in Freeland, after finding out why Jefferson had texted the 911, there was nothing to do but wait, as the team prepared and planned to rescue Anissa’s mother, Dr. Lynn Stewart. And while Anissa carried the worry well, like any good comic book hero does, some light poking at Anissa about their first fight was all it took before Grace uncovered her girlfriend’s worries… and they found a proper distraction from the uncertain future.

Grappling was certainly a new form of flirting for them, but by the time they collapsed at the top of the loft, Grace’s racing heart had nothing to do with leaping over the staircase. When it was over (she still felt they needed a true throwdown in a non-living space to decide, but she chose not to keep prodding), Grace had truly just intended to  _ just _ take a breather when she moved to the bed, but Anissa’s brown eyes had darkened as she watched from the railing, and she shuffled forward until she was standing between Grace’s knees at the edge of the mattress. 

Grace pushed up to her elbows and waited, watching the wheels turning in her girlfriend’s head and taking care not to look too hopeful. As much as they’d been through, together and individually, to get to this point, there was still so much potential pain ahead. She could understand that might not exactly put a person in “the mood”. 

But, without a word, Anissa pulled off her jacket, keeping Grace’s gaze as she tossed it towards the closet, and then she was crawling onto the bed and stretching out over her, capturing her lips, and all of that mess seemed so very far away. The only things that mattered were Anissa’s tongue gliding against hers, Anissa’s hand inelegantly questing for the button of Grace’s pants, Anissa’s familiar weight pressing her into the mattress.

Grace let her hands wander over Anissa’s defined shoulders, down her waist, and squeezed her ass, the last eliciting a small noise of surprise against her lips. She might’ve made a smug comment about it, but then Anissa’s fingers slipped under the waistband of her boyshorts, and all Grace could do was arch into the touch, mouth falling slack. Barely a stroke, and Grace’s whole body was tensing and pulsing in anticipation, because  _ this _ was all she had wanted since setting eyes on Anissa at that bus stop, otherworldly beautiful even under the wan yellow streetlight. It wasn’t just the sex (though they were  _ very _ good at that part, if she did say so herself). It was the intimacy, the  _ trust _ that was required—literally and figuratively, this was the finish line of the marathon of pain and mess they’d slogged through to find each other again. 

Anissa dropped her head to place a sucking kiss just below Grace’s collarbone, and the shapeshifter quickly decided she might as well, after all the fuss,  _ fully _ enjoy the fall into this strange world without secrets.

Along the line of that thought, Grace grabbed Anissa’s wrist, before her girlfriend’s purposeful fingers found their rhythm and this was over before they’d so much as started sweating. That wasn’t what she wanted. Grace might’ve managed to get those words out, she wasn’t sure, but after carefully unzipping Anissa’s impressively still-intact top and tossing it somewhere in the sheets, Anissa caught the plot (and the urgency) regardless of whether Grace’s kiss-swollen lips had been able to form the right sounds.

The rest went in sharp rips and tearing punctuated by muffled laughter, until Grace’s palms were finally sliding along Anissa’s bare thighs, still bracketed over her hips. Perfect softness over firm muscle, perfectly curving up to her hips and waist—a trail Grace’s eyes were able to follow as Anissa pushed herself upright, throwing that long ponytail over her shoulder with an effortless sensuality that made Grace’s throat tighten. She almost detached one hand to reach for the dark, pebbled nipples her eyes found on their way back down, but thinking better of it, she followed Anissa up, encouraging her girlfriend’s legs to fold behind her so she was straddling Grace’s lap, and wrapped her lips around one nipple instead. A  _ much _ better choice of action. 

Anissa seemed to agree, her fingers digging into Grace’s shoulders, hips grinding forward against her stomach. Grace grazed her teeth against the hard, sensitive bud and revelled in the sighing moans it drew from above her head. Her super-sensitive nose didn’t change how Anissa’s skin smelled, but somehow made it more—just  _ more _ . Like the difference between listening to a recording of ocean waves and standing in them, letting the water splash against your skin. Anissa smelled like chicory blooms and sand dunes after rain. The familiar comfort of it, of how it made her feel, wrapped around her chest and wedged between her ribs, becoming a part of her; loving Anissa had changed Grace more deeply and permanently than the meta-gene ever could. 

When Anissa’s hands twisted in her hair and dragged Grace’s head to the other nipple, Grace worked a hand between them, until her fingertips met the source of the velvet wetness that was smearing her lower belly and thighs. Anissa arched at the touch, hips lifting, and despite the crush of their bodies together, Grace found  _ just _ the right angle to slip inside her, pulling her head back to watch Anissa’s face for signs of discomfort. There weren’t any. Instead, Anissa braced her hands on Grace’s shoulders and began a purposeful roll of her hips, grinding herself against Grace’s palm at the bottom of each stroke.

Grace kept watching Anissa’s face as they found a deep, smooth rhythm that thrummed all the way through the bedframe. Her girlfriend looked back at her from under drooping lids, slackened lips forming a dreamy smile around ragged gasps. Heat and affection pulled at the back of Grace’s eyes, to get to make Anissa feel this good again, to be the one that Thunder willingly gave her breath. 

And then she slammed back into her body, a wave crashing against stone, when Anissa managed to sneak one hand from her shoulder and find the space between their thighs to slip her soaked fingers against Grace’s clit.

The answering throb was almost too much, threatening to overwhelm her, and the pressure in her lower body roared back to full force and she was going to come no matter how much she wanted to linger in this heaven of heat and wet and bliss and sweet ignorance of anything else in the universe—so she used her free hand to tug Anissa down for a last crushing kiss, swallowing the long moan that accompanied muscles shuddering hard around Grace’s curling fingers.

Between the pulsing squeezes and the way Anissa’s tongue slid against hers, Grace’s body responded in kind, her spine arching like a bowstring drawn tight, and then the pressure burst, flooding her limbs with tingling pleasure, splashing up to the base of her skull. It was  _ everything, _ and Anissa’s deft touch carried her through, until she whimpered in a weak protest. 

Though they were sweaty and too-hot, they rested against each other for awhile, catching their breath, with Anissa still straddling her hips and Grace with her chin tucked at the base of her girlfriend’s neck. Her lower body felt swollen and oversensitive, but Grace was pleasantly surprised to find that when she gently withdrew her hand from between them, her wrist wasn’t sore at all. An intriguing realization, for later exploration. For now, for whatever quiet minutes they had left, Grace was content to enjoy the feeling of Anissa’s heartbeat drumming against her chest. Strong. Alive. 

But eventually, the air settled and cooled, and more annoyingly, Shonda’s alarm pinged, accompanied by her calm voice announcing that they should leave for the Sanctum in approximately thirty minutes.

Anissa spent two of them making reluctant noises and kissing under Grace’s jaw, but when the shapeshifter gently reminded her that they were about to be face to face with her  _ father _ , Anissa relented. They rinsed in the shower, five minutes, and wasted three more making out in front of the fogged bathroom mirror, until Shonda interrupted again… and even though it was supposed to be impossible, Grace would have been willing to put money on the claim that she heard  _ jealousy _ in the AI’s voice.

Somehow, between teasing pinches and playful threats, they did get dressed again, and with six minutes to spare. The fact that they were heading into a quite serious meeting did start to settle into their moods over the final free seconds, dimming Anissa’s smile a bit.

Before they opened the heavy door to the loft, Grace grasped Anissa’s hand, entwining their fingers, and waited until her girlfriend’s worried eyes met hers. 

“I love you,” Grace said, quiet but firm, and she brought Anissa’s knuckles up to her lips for a kiss. “No matter what happens. I love you. I’m  _ with _ you.” 

“I love you, too.” Anissa’s forehead smoothed as she offered Grace a modest grin, and the shapeshifter felt as proud of that smile on her girlfriend’s striking features as anything she’d ever achieved in life. It required not just Anissa’s trust and confidence, but Grace’s faith in herself, too. There were no more secrets, and no more excuses. She had no choice but to rise to the occasion.

“Shonda, open front door.”

**Author's Note:**

> yell at me on tumblr @trashyeggroll


End file.
